The negation of that which is false
by tatarrific
Summary: The immediate aftermath of the 'it happened' scene. The title comes from a twatty (as Sarah would say) quote: "Knowledge is two-fold, and consists not only in an affirmation of what is true, but in the negation of that which is false." *Previously published on AO3


She doesn't remember leaving - not the quick strides to the door, arm scooping up her jacket on the way, not the stumbling run down the stairs. __It showed. __The words cut the way they were meant to, like a quick punch to the gut - knocking the air out of her lungs with the shock of it, revealing the thin blade only as it's pulled out, drawing blood and leaving dull emptiness in its wake. __It showed.__

Even the dull grayness of a Minnesota afternoon bites sharply after the semi-darkness of Cosima's apartment and Delphine stutters to a halt on the sidewalk, eyes burning. She is shivering, she realizes, and it has nothing to do with the chill of the day crawling up her naked arms, slithering under the thin cotton of her tank (she had chuckled at herself that morning as she chose her outfit, blatantly inappropriate for the midwestern winter, knowing Cosima would see right through her intent - to draw the eye to the black lace barely hidden by white cotton, make it linger - but would still oblige, lids lowering, gaze growing darker with hunger).

She turns and looks up at the second floor window, heavy drapes revealing nothing, and the enormity of what transpired roots her to the spot. __Cosima knows.. everything.__ __Cosima...__ Delphine closes her eyes and feels the deep, dull throb in her chest, her gut, her lungs (refuses to think __heart__) expand, grow deeper with every breath, each image flashing behind her closed eyelids.

Cosima waving her hands as she sits cross-legged on the bed still wearing nothing more than her underwear and bra, heedless of the ice cream (Eskimo Pie, she had corrected Delphine) dripping down her fingers; the purposeful way she had licked each of those digits clean while holding Delphine's gaze, tongue gliding up the length of her palm, along the inside of her middle finger before sucking it in, bespectacled eyes closing with pleasure, a long hum of satisfaction - how she had knowingly rendered Delphine speechless and dry-mouthed, oh, and ravenous, __ravenous__.

Cosima, gaze weary behind her glasses, eyes every so slightly narrowed as they flit between her and Aldous at dinner, but growing more open, deeper, whenever they settle on her. Delphine could __feel__ Cosima's mind slowing ever so slightly, her restless suspicion easing as they had walked back to Cosima's apartment after dinner, shoulders gently bumping against each other, conversation having shifted away from Dyad and developing proprietary cloning techniques to safer topics (Cosima's childhood experiments to confirm the basic laws of physics using the family cat as an unwilling subject - __Munchkins would never again let himself be picked up by anyone standing near a window...__).

The hitch of her breath against Delphine's lips after she kissed her that morning (__I can't stop thinking about that kiss__), the shiver that ran down her spine as Delphine pressed her against the desk seeking more contact, the goosebumps her hands left in their wake as they trailed up Cosima's arms - Delphine had noted each reaction, each a clue that led her to that final, shuddering exhale as Cosima pulsed around her fingers, sagging with release. The searing warmth of the feeling which surged through her chest then took her aback, rocked her with its potency and unexpectedness. She felt filled with protectiveness, with an almost animalistic loyalty toward this scientific wonder, toward this __woman__ who was both fierce and vulnerable and who had won her over so completely, so fully - intellectually, physically... emotionally.

"Ma'am?" Delphine starts, eyes snapping open, and stares uncomprehending at the worried face of a mailman, his hand awkwardly half-extended toward her, breath misting in the cold air. "Are you okay?"

She stutter-steps around him, her attempt at a smile a grimace, and waves him off. She takes two steps, then realizes that she is still clutching her jacket in her hand, arms numb with cold and face streaked with tears. She slips her coat on and spares one more glance to the shaded windows of Cosima's apartment before stalking away.

No. Cosima may be self-aware and in touch with other clones. She may know about Dyad's role in her conception and Delphine's role in Dyad - may have known all along, but Cosima doesn't know everything. Not how easily she cleaved Delphine's life into 'before the kiss' and 'after the kiss,' how irreparably she changed everything – Delphine's loyalties, Delphine's priorities, __desires__ - with her vitality, her wide-toothed grins and pliant, demanding lips. Not how deeply she cut with those two words, nor how determined Delphine is to sew up that wound, soothe the scar with the press of Cosima's skin against hers. Cosima knows Delphine the deceiver, Delphine the liar. She doesn't yet know Delphine the lover, Delphine whose breath hitches with panic at the thought of anything happening to Cosima (__She is in danger,__ he had said,) of __anyone__ hurting her.

Cosima will learn.

The throb in her chest punctuates each step and Delphine squares into the cold, shoulders hunching up around the echoing hollowness inside her breastbone.


End file.
